


Borderline

by micehell



Category: Tour of Duty (1987)
Genre: Blood in an icky way, Drama, M/M, maybe a little spooky, non-consensual situation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-07-18
Updated: 2005-07-18
Packaged: 2017-11-12 03:57:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/micehell/pseuds/micehell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things go from bad to worse as Zeke and Myron face an unknown enemy, who might just be one of their own</p>
            </blockquote>





	Borderline

They were almost at Firebase Caroline, known to most as Firebase Borderline, since it was sitting close to Cambodia, right at the edge of enemy-controlled lands. Sometimes, during bad days, it was actually sitting on enemy-controlled lands. But they couldn't get to it fast enough for Zeke.

A remote firebase like Borderline would certainly have a radio and a medic, and both were needed badly. They'd lost theirs in an attack yesterday, and, without medical help or the ability to call for a dust-off, they were getting desperate. Zeke had wounded that needed help soon, or they wouldn't need help at all. Even those men who hadn't been wounded were dragging, tired from helping to carry those who were. And from carrying those who hadn't made it at all.

If only so many of their regular men hadn't been on leave; Ruiz's ability with a M-60 had been missed, and they'd really needed Doc Hock. Though Zeke guessed that it probably wouldn't have made a difference if Doc had been with them. After all, they'd had a medic, theirs for just the one mission, and he'd been the first casualty. Probably dead before he'd even had a chance to hear the bullet that hit him.

Zeke was watching his lieutenant as the man stumbled. Goldman tried to mask it with a turn to look at the men behind him, but Zeke knew better. He was hurting. What little penicillin they'd had hadn't been enough for everyone, so Goldman had rationed it out to the most severely wounded. The through and through bullet wound on his arm hadn't put him that category, and now the LT was struggling more from the infection than from the wound itself.

Seeing Zeke looking at him, Goldman gave an irritated wave, motioning for him to move on. Which Zeke did. But not before he saw that he wasn't the only one keeping his eye on his lieutenant. Not that all the guys weren't worried, but Craddock's interest was just a little more personal than concern for his CO. Oh, the man kept it fairly discreet, but, after all, it wasn't like it was a look that was exactly foreign to Zeke himself, and he could certainly recognize longing when he saw it. At least in Craddock's case, he felt safe in letting it go, unlike one or two others he could mention.

He knew Goldman had seen it too, but the man had been using his oblivious façade to deal with the problem. Well, that and getting irritated about it if it went on too long, and an irritated Goldman was much more likely to hand out shit assignments to the men who irritated him. Literally shit assignments, considering that Craddock had had latrine duty so often the man would be able to list it on his resume when he went back Stateside.

Zeke shook his head, getting his mind back where it belonged. He needed to keep his eyes and his mind in the here and now. And they were getting close enough to the base that they'd be seeing signs of it soon.

But after they'd gone another klick, Zeke started to get nervous. They had to be damn close to the base now, and they still hadn't come across anyone. He signaled a halt, waving Percell and Taylor over. When Goldman arrived, he said, "We should be getting pretty close to that base, but we're not seeing any signs of it; no patrols, no sentry."

Head cocked, Goldman considered this. "Could just be that they're careless."

Zeke just snorted.

Goldman nodded. "Ok, it doesn't sound good. You're thinking we should scout it out?"

"Yeah. Send these two ahead a little, see what's what."

Percell and Taylor were looking at Goldman with the same worry that Zeke had been, but Goldman just frowned at them. "You heard the man, get a move on."

Taylor rolled his eyes at Percell, but before anyone could call him on it, they made their way quickly, yet carefully, down the trail.

Goldman looked at Zeke, who was openly staring. "What?"

"You're not looking so good, LT."

The frown got deeper. "Sorry, but I haven't had a chance to do my makeup."

Zeke just ignored the snide remark. "I wish you'd saved a little of the penicillin for yourself."

"Someone else needed it more. Shouldn't be long now, anyway."

That was true. As soon as Percell and Taylor reported back, they could be on their way. They probably weren't more than fifteen minutes away, even at the speed they'd been traveling. As long as everything was Ok.

Goldman fidgeted for a while, then got out from under Zeke's scrutiny by seeing to the men. He stopped by each of the wounded, making sure the men were as comfortable as they could make them. He also talked to Stiles, who was nervously twirling his knife in one hand, starting at every noise coming out of the bush around them.

All of them were feeling the strain of this last mission, but Stiles was showing more than one sign of battle fatigue. He wasn't the only one, unfortunately. They really needed to get out of here.

Zeke couldn't hear what Goldman had said from where he was, but Stiles looked calmer for it, stowing his knife away, though he continued to look around. But it was a caution Zeke could appreciate. Goldman finally finished his round, making his way back over to Zeke, stumbling a little again as he approached.

When he tried to cover it up, Zeke said, "You don't have to hide it. The men know you were hurt."

But Goldman straightened his back further, not showing a thing. "They may know it, but it doesn't mean I have to let them see it. They're nervous enough without having to be afraid that their CO is having problems."

And he was right. The men did need him to be strong. But it was all Zeke could do not to grin. The LT always had to be so damn tough. With his dirty, dampened clothes, which always seemed a little too big for him, he looked like a child playing dress up. A precocious child, smart, too old for his age. Too old for any age, really, but still naïve in a way. Like he'd been so caught up in some aspects of life that he'd totally missed others. The good times. The just being young times.

"You're right, LT. But as soon as we get to that camp, you're lying down. Let someone else be in charge for a while."

Goldman actually smiled at that, but it faded when they got the signal that someone was approaching. Percell and Taylor had made it back, but it was plain from their faces that something was wrong.

The two men had nearly identical expressions on their faces, which would have been amusing, except that the expression was one of fear.

They both started to speak, but Taylor shut up and let Percell go. "There wasn't anything there, LT. Nothing."

Goldman looked at Zeke, but Zeke didn't know what he was talking about either.

"What do you mean there was nothing there, Danny? Couldn't ya'll find the base?"

But Taylor answered this time. "Oh, we found the base all right, Sarge, but there wasn't anyone there. No people. Not a single one. And no sign of a fight either. It was like they just disappeared."

Zeke wiped a hand across his face, wondering what god they'd pissed off to be in the middle of this mess. He saw Goldman sag for a second, weighed down by the continual bad news. But it was only for a moment. Then he asked, "What about the equipment? Were there any vehicles, any weapons?"

Taylor shook his head. "All their personal stuff is still there, from what we could tell, but there weren't any weapons or vehicles." He paused, before giving the final piece of bad news. "And there wasn't no radio, either, LT."

:::::

They all finally made it into the deserted camp at about 1000 hours. Myron had had Anderson give everyone except the seriously wounded something to do to keep their mind off the Twilight Zone episode they had apparently stepped into. But even though he'd had fifteen fairly able-bodied men searching, himself included, they'd found nothing of any use. No people, and no sign of them. Weapons and munitions gone. Vehicles gone. Medical supplies gone. And worse yet, radio gone.

They'd lost theirs yesterday in the attack that had killed three of his men, and wounded another five. And him, though his wound hadn't been too bad. No, he'd have been fine if only it hadn't become infected. And considering that there wasn't any penicillin left, and none to be found on this base, the problem was only going to get worse.

Well, though he wished he could call for an early pickup for the sake of his men, they still had a scheduled pickup at 1700 tomorrow. They'd rest here tonight and tomorrow morning, then make their way, best as they could, to the LZ. He'd already decided to leave his dead here, knowing that someone was going to have to come investigate what had happened, and that they could ferry out his men for him. That should make things easier for the living, anyway, especially considering that two of the wounded would still have to be carried.

Myron looked around when Anderson called out to him. The man didn't look happy. Must mean there was a new problem. He sighed. It was going to be a long two days.

:::::

Looking at the sight before him, Zeke felt his temper starting to rise. As if they didn't already have enough problems, some asshole had to go and mess with the belongings of the men who'd been stationed here. He wished he could blame it on the enemy, but the tent had been intact when they'd first arrived, and it looked like a cyclone had hit it now. Whichever one of the men... hell, whichever one of his men that had been rifling the place hadn't been content with stealing whatever he could, no, he'd had to leave a trail of torn and broken possessions behind him.

Zeke turned and looked at his LT, who was fingering the torn halves of a picture of a smiling woman and child. Goldman's face was scowling. "Damn it."

Zeke's face was grim, also. He knew what needed to be done, but he didn't like it. Especially as whoever had done this had most likely stashed what they'd taken, knowing that there would probably be a search. But they had to do it, just in case. Even if it was insulting to the men. Most of them, anyway.

Goldman sighed, weariness plain on his face as he looked at the mess around him. "We'll have to do a search of their packs. If we don't find anything, we'll have to do the search again before we set off tomorrow."

Nodding his agreement, Zeke took a small risk and rested a hand on Goldman's shoulder, feeling the tense muscles there relax slightly with his touch. It wasn't much, but it was what he could give right now.

The moment passed, and the search started, but as they looked through packs handed to them by grumbling men, Zeke thought his lieutenant looked a little less tired, and reckoned the risk well worth it.

:::::

They'd searched the packs and found nothing, of course. They'd expected it. Expected that whoever had done it had just stashed what he'd taken until he could retrieve it later.

But it still set Myron's nerves to jangling. Because while the thought of one of his men being so callous as to steal from the probably dead was disturbing, what was really making Myron nervous was the thought that maybe one of his men hadn't done it.

It had occurred to Myron when they first arrived that whatever had led to the disappearance of every man on this base might still be in the general area. It had occurred to Myron just recently, and perhaps a little on the late side, that it might still be on the base itself, despite their initial search.

"Sergeant, I want the rotation of patrols stepped up, and make sure the sentries are keeping their eyes on the base as well as the surrounding area." Myron looked at the men around him, all of whom were tired, pushed to their limits. It was a measure of their concern, of their fear, that they didn't even groan over the thought of more patrols. They wanted to make sure nothing was out there, too.

Anderson nodded, quickly making the assignments, getting the next patrol out within minutes of receiving the order.

Myron watched it all, proud of his men. They were good soldiers; they'd get the job done.

He deliberately didn't think about the good soldiers who'd been assigned to this base. And who'd vanished from it.

:::::

When the scream came, it caused every man on the base to jump and grip their rifles tighter.

A quick look around found the culprit, who let out another yowl when Zeke accidentally stepped on its tail. The cat glared at him for a moment, before it went back to its dinner of freshly killed rat, shooting suspicious glances at all of them even after they'd moved off.

Zeke figured the cat was skittish, but not feral. Used to living among humans, then, if not the humans that were around it now. Just another indicator that whatever had happened on this base hadn't been that long ago.

Another yowl from the cat didn't help his nerves any. This whole thing made him nervous, and Goldman insisting on going out with the last patrol wasn't helping any.

As if summoned by the thought, the patrol made their way back onto to the base then. All of them were looking ragged, but Goldman was really beginning to look ill. Zeke could see from the nervous glances that the men kept shooting their CO, that LT had been right in hiding his condition for as long as he could. But even someone as stubborn as Goldman had limits, and he'd obviously reached his.

Goldman took one look at Zeke and asked, "What happened?"

"Nothing really, LT. Turns out there's a cat on the base, and he don't take kindly to our presence. It just sounded a little too much like a scream. Kind of spooky."

At Goldman's snicker, Zeke grinned. "Well, glad my sad story amuses you, LT."

A shake of the head. "Take what I can get right now. Anything else happen while we were out?"

"Not a thing. How about ya'll, LT?"

"Nothing. It's empty out there."

And though that should have made Zeke happy, instead it just made him more nervous. Of course, at this point, pretty much everything was making Zeke nervous. "Maybe we shouldn't stay here, LT. Maybe we should make our way to the LZ now, get as far away from this base as we can."

Goldman sighed. "Maybe. But we have men who are hurt, and staying in the bush for another night isn't going to help them any. And it certainly isn't going to make us any more secure if someone is nearby, and they follow us."

Zeke nodded, knowing the man was right. Staying another night in the bush wouldn't help the LT any, either, and the man was sick enough as it was. But knowing that didn't make the anxiety go away.

"But it wouldn't hurt to do another sweep of the base. Just to be sure. And we'll keep the security up around the perimeter."

Zeke felt a little of his anxiety ease, more from having something to do than from thinking another sweep would help anything. A look at Goldman's flushed face, the fever from the infection obviously on the rise, ratcheted Zeke's anxiety right back up again. But his LT just glared when Zeke suggested that he go lie down, and waved the men over for their new orders.

And they all jumped and held their rifles tighter when the cat screamed again.

:::::

Myron was beginning to think that he should have listened to Anderson when he told him he should lie down. His head was starting to spin a little, and he didn't think it was doing any good for him to be on a sweep when his sight was wavering in and out. He also had to concentrate hard to not give into the nausea threatening to take what little food he'd managed to eat today.

He was leaning up against some crates, trying to get himself back under control, when he heard Craddock call to him. Not wanting to deal with the man, Goldman ignored him, hoping he'd just go away, even though he knew he wasn't going to be that lucky.

But instead of calling to him again, Craddock leapt at him, knocking Myron to the ground and landing right on top of him. Myron was so surprised by the maneuver that he couldn't even think of anything to say. Not that he had the breath to say it, considering Craddock's not inconsiderable weight was pressing down on him. Before he could collect himself enough to remedy either of those things, a large stack of barrels came crashing down, right where he'd been standing.

The barrels rolled everywhere, one of them smacking up hard against Myron and Craddock, adding to the bruises Myron had taken from his sudden contact with the ground. But it also knocked him out of his surprise, allowing him to take in the situation.

Craddock must have seen the barrels starting to fall, and had tried to warn him. That would teach Myron to ignore people. Well, for a little while, at least.

This was the second time in two days that Craddock had saved him from being hurt, or being hurt worse than he would have been. Yesterday, during the firefight, he had shoved Myron aside as one of the VC had fired at him, resulting in the bullet hitting him in the arm, rather than his chest, where it'd been heading. And now today, he'd helped him once again. Myron really should thank him.

Except the man was still lying on top of him. Myron squirmed, trying to get out from underneath his weight, but it wasn't working, and Craddock didn't seem to be in any hurry to move. "Are you hurt, Private?"

But Craddock didn't answer, just staring down at him. Again. Myron wished he wouldn't. Most people gave up when he ignored them long enough, but Craddock couldn't seem to take the hint, veiled as it was. It was irritating. Of course, Anderson tended to stare, too, but that wasn't irritating, because... it was Zeke. And Myron wasn't going to think about that now.

Craddock was still staring, and Myron was starting to get nervous. "Private!"

Either Myron calling him or the sound of someone approaching seemed to get through to Craddock, and he finally stood up. He reached a hand out, and helped Myron to his feet as Anderson came up.

"What happened?"

Myron looked at Craddock, nodding for the man to answer.

"I saw some barrels near the LT swaying, and I was afraid they might fall, so I called to him. But I guess he didn't hear me, 'cause he didn't move. But the barrels were about to fall, so I kind of knocked him out of the way."

Anderson looked worried. "Are you Ok?"

Craddock just nodded, but Myron had to think about it, which caused Anderson to run a quick hand over his arms, ribs and legs, looking for broken bones, apparently. Myron was sure he was blushing, and he tried to step back, but Anderson just followed him until he completed his inspection.

"Everything seems to be all right, LT." He was grinning, obviously amused by Myron's embarrassment.

Myron wanted to yell at him, among other things, but couldn't do either the yelling or the other things with someone there. Not to mention that he should thank Craddock for helping him out. So he turned to the man and said, "Thank you, Private."

But Craddock was back to staring at him, and didn't seem to realize that he'd been dismissed. Goldman restrained the sigh that was trying to escape him. He never had figured out a good way to directly deal with this. So, once again, he didn't. "Dismissed, Private."

The order got through at least, and Craddock moved off, with one quick dark look at Zeke.

Anderson laughed. "Looks like I'm in the dog house with your not so secret admirer."

Myron did sigh this time. "I know. I keep hoping that by the next time I see him, he'll have worked whatever it is out of his system. But..."

"Ain't going to happen anytime soon, LT. Especially not with the way he's been keeping you out of trouble for the last two days."

Goldman couldn't help the little smile that played on his lips. "Well, with benefits like that, maybe I ought to encourage him."

He walked away, the sound of Anderson laughing trailing behind him.

:::::

They'd just finished the sweep, and Zeke was trying to talk LT into getting some rest, when they heard the shouting.

They came around a corner to find Stiles kicking and shouting at the tent where the radio should have been. Some of the men were standing nearby, trying to get him to calm down. Percell had a hand on his shoulder, but Stiles just shrugged it off, and went back to his attack on the tent.

"Stiles, knock it off!"

Stiles looked at the lieutenant, but gave another kick to the tent, managing to knock down one of the stays. The corner of the tent collapsed, an anti-climax to all the shouting.

Goldman yelled at him, "I gave you an order, Soldier!"

The madness seemed to die away from Stiles then, though his face was sullen as he drew himself to attention. "Yes, Sir."

"If you have nothing better to do than this, I'm sure I can come up with something for you. Something that doesn't involve causing a distraction that the enemy could have taken advantage of."

Giving a nervous glance around him, Stiles looked worried at that thought.

But Goldman wasn't finished. "Not to mention damaging US Army property. I understand you're tired, and I understand you're not happy with the situation here. None of us are. But this type of behavior isn't acceptable. I'm letting it go this time, but don't push it. Now why don't you go relieve Taylor."

Stiles' face went sullen again. A quick "Yes, Sir," and a salute, and he left, but not without one backwards glare at his lieutenant.

Zeke shook his head. If looks could kill. He'd have to talk with the guys. Stiles was getting jumpier all the time, and Zeke didn't want to have anyone self-destruct on his watch. Or wind up with his lieutenant fragged, either.

It was strange, because Stiles was usually so easy-going, getting along with everyone, including the LT, but it looked like the battle fatigue was getting worse. And Zeke didn't want to go to all this effort to keep his men safe from the enemy, only to lose them when Stiles went over the edge.

He pulled Percell aside to tell him to keep his eye on Stiles. Zeke would keep his on the LT.

:::::

His mother was up ahead, standing in the entrance to the mess tent, her back turned to him. He felt like he was moving through water, his limbs encumbered by its weight as he tried to get to her. As he neared, he couldn't help but call out, "Mama." She turned then, and smiled at him, the decaying flesh of her face gaping over the expression, a death head's grin.

He pulled away then, but couldn't move fast enough to avoid her rotting arms. "Myron, my baby. I've missed you so much."

With a strangled cry, he managed to get away, running through the rows of tents that made up the firebase. But no matter how fast he ran, he couldn't get away from her, her cries of "Myron" following him everywhere.

He ducked into a tent, hoping she'd pass him by, but some sense told him he wasn't alone. He turned, expecting to see his mother, but it wasn't her. Instead, Alex stood there, smiling at him, her face as beautiful as he remembered. He stepped away, knowing this wasn't right, but her arms reached out to him. He hesitated, unsure, and then the arms were around him, sharp points stabbing into him where the bones were shattered, the blood pouring from them as they held him tight.

"It's been so lonely, Myron. I'm so glad you're here. Now we can always be together."

He cried out, pushing against her, but he couldn't budge her grip. As he struggled, she started shaking him, jerking his head back and forth until he finally woke, Anderson calling to him.

Myron pulled out of Anderson's arms, falling back onto the bed, shaking. "What are you doing here?"

"Sorry, LT, but you wouldn't wake up. Your fever's getting pretty high." He hesitated, but continued, "Must have been some dream."

Myron almost smiled at his sergeant's attempt at subtlety, but the dream was still too close for that. "Yeah. Some dream." He shuddered, feeling cold even in the warm air of the tent.

A comforting hand on his arm cut through defenses already shaky from being sick and scared. "I was on the base, but my mother was here. I went to her..."

When he couldn't continue, Zeke spoke. "It's Ok, LT. That's enough."

But Myron shook his head. "Not LT, not right now."

Zeke hesitated. "We've talked about this."

"Yeah, I know. And I know the danger, and I know I ask a lot of you, Zeke, but just give me this moment."

Zeke got up and went to the tent door, looking outside. He secured the door before he came back. He smiled then, trailing a finger down Myron's face. "Myron."

Myron returned the smile, before reaching out to pull the man to him, wanting his warmth close. Zeke threw one last nervous glance at the door before lying down beside him on the cot, holding him close.

The shakes eased a little, enough that he felt comfortable, comforted. "My mother was here, but when I got to her, her face was decayed, the skin... When she reached out to me, I ran, but I couldn't get away. So I ran into a tent to try to hide, but Alex was there. She looked like she did before... before, and I just stood there. And then she was holding me, but the blood was everywhere, and I couldn't get away."

He could feel the shakes coming back, could hear the catch in his voice, but then Zeke was pulling him closer, whispering to him, "Sssh, it's all right. Just a dream. Don't mean nothing."

Myron couldn't help but laugh at that. "That's not what Freud said."

Zeke just shook his head, running a hand up and down Myron's back, calming him further.

The hand on his back felt nice, warm, turning Myron's thoughts to something besides comfort. Something that had nothing to do with the men, the mission, or his duty. In other words, nothing his mind should be on now. But it felt so good.

And maybe it was the fever, or maybe it was the fact that he was tired of feeling tired, of feeling afraid, but he didn't care that the situation was dangerous. That the situation he wanted to be in was always dangerous. He just didn't care.

Shifting, he pushed his rising cock against Zeke's leg, the friction bringing him to full hardness.

Zeke grabbed hold of his shoulders, pushing him back a little. "LT-"

"Myron."

Zeke sighed, but there was a smile on his lips. "Myron. This ain't happening."

Myron slid his leg between Zeke's, feeling an answering hardness there. "I think this is happening."

Another sigh, drawn out into a moan. "This ain't the time or place."

Shifting again, Myron got his hand in between them, sliding it inside Zeke's pants, around his cock, giving a little squeeze. "I agree. But I don't care. Not right now."

Zeke pressed his hand over his pants, over Myron's hand, stilling it. His breath was coming in pants, and there was no hiding his excitement. "Ok, I don't care either. But I do care that you're sick. You have a fever. I don't want you making decisions while you're sick, that you might regret when you're not."

Myron kissed him, letting all the love he usually kept so tightly contained out. "I do know what I'm saying. And I always want to say it, I'm just usually too in control. But I am sick. And I'm tired. And I'm..."

Zeke ran a finger around his lips, his eyes half-lidded. "Scared. Me too, Myron. Me too."

Giving a little nibble to the finger, Myron pulled his hand out of Zeke's pants. Hearing the involuntary whimper, he smiled. He sat up, unbuttoning both Zeke's pants and his, pulling them down enough that they were out of the way before lying back down on top of Zeke. He slid his aching cock along the groove above Zeke's thigh, groaning at the sensation of skin on skin. He held there, controlling the jerk of his hips, waiting for Zeke.

Zeke looked like he wanted to say something, maybe make one last objection, but then he closed his eyes, pushing back against Myron, rising up to meet his thrusts..

It lasted too long, the threat of discovery or attack far too real. It didn't last long enough, both of them too close, too on edge to hold out. But they lay there afterwards, each caught in the other's arms, and took the moment for what it was.

Zeke stood, getting something to clean them up. When he was done he straightened his clothes, smiling down at his badly rumpled CO. "You look good like that."

"I feel good like this."

"We shouldn't have done it, though."

Myron sighed, storing what they'd done in his memory, a talisman against all the times when duty would win out against desire. "Well, I've always been able to resist everything but temptation."

Zeke laughed. "And that's one of my favorite things about you, LT."

Myron let the LT go. Then, unable to stop himself, he yawned.

"Go to sleep. You need the rest. We still have to get through tomorrow."

All of a sudden he was so tired he could barely hold his eyes open, but he managed to get out "Tomorrow" before he drifted off.

And maybe he dreamed Zeke saying, "I just hope you don't regret this, then."

:::::

Zeke found Goldman still asleep the next morning. He was lying on his side, curled in on himself, one hand tucked up underneath his chin. He looked innocent and young. Zeke smiled, thinking about what they'd done the night before. Well, he was one of the two, anyway.

Stiles had managed to cobble together a hot breakfast out of their limited supplies, and Zeke had made sure he saved some for his LT. He waved the plate underneath the man's nose, trying to rouse him.

Goldman did rouse, looking up at Zeke for a moment before putting his head over the side of the bed and throwing up.

Zeke managed to save both the breakfast and his boots, but it was a close thing for both of them. "Hey there, LT. Guess there's no point in asking how you're feeling."

Goldman just grimaced at him. "No. And get whatever that stuff is out of here."

"Can't do that, LT. You need to eat."

"I don't think I can."

Zeke nodded. "Well, you're going to have to force yourself. You ain't going to be walking out of here on your own feet if you don't keep your strength up. The fever's taking enough out of you as it is, no point adding starvation to it."

Goldman grimaced again, but took the plate. He ate it all, but Zeke thought, looking at him, that it was only through force of will that it stayed down. After taking a good look around, Zeke leaned down and gave him a quick kiss, smiling. "There, that's your present for being a good boy and eating all your food."

He got a frown in return. "Don't treat me like a child."

Zeke just shook his head. "I don't think you're a child, that's for sure. There'd be laws against what we did last night if you were a child."

"There are laws against what we did."

That stopped Zeke for a moment. He'd been afraid that Myron would regret things when he felt better. And here the man was regretting it, and he was still sick.

But Goldman looked at him, face clear of regrets. "I know last night was my fault, my choice, but we need to keep being careful."

Zeke nodded, knowing that they had to go back to the way things had been; only able to show open affection when on leave together, behind locked doors. It was just a bad situation, because those times were so rare, and he wished for more. But then, if wishes were horses, Vietnam would be overrun with horse manure.

Goldman gave him a quick smile. "Ok. Go get the men ready, I want to talk to them about what we're doing today. And I guess we should check around and make sure nothing else has gone wrong."

"God, I hope not. Things are bad enough as it is."

"Yeah. Stiles is right at the edge, and a couple of the others aren't too far behind him. Hell, the way I feel now, I'm not too far behind him. Too many missions back to back, too many days in the bush. They should have let the whole squad have leave instead of just some of them."

"What are we going to do today?"

"I was considering staying here and resting. If things are settled. But I don't like not knowing what went on here. Not knowing if the threat is still somewhere nearby. I don't like the idea of taking a bunch of tired men, some of them hurt, up against something that took out a whole base. And didn't leave a sign of what it was behind."

Zeke looked grim, but then he quirked a grin. "Well, whatever it was, we can handle it, 'cause we got ourselves a secret weapon."

Goldman raised an eyebrow in question.

"Yep. One smart as a whip, but irritable as hell LT. Who'd better be getting up so I can look at his arm, and so he can have a shower before he meets the men." And with that he pulled the lieutenant up from the bed.

When Goldman looked ready to argue, he continued, "That is, he'd better take a shower unless he wants to meet the men smelling of sex."

The flush that showed on Goldman's face could have been the fever, but Zeke was betting it wasn't, and he couldn't help the smirk that threatened to take over his face.

Zeke's secret weapon wasn't one to be sidetracked by a little embarrassment, and as he held his arm up for Zeke to look at, he said, "We have another secret weapon. A sergeant who better wipe that smirk off his face if he knows what's good for him."

And, as even Zeke had a limit to how brave he was willing to be, he did.

:::::

One look at his men, drawn and haggard, and he'd decided to let them rest as long as he could. So he gave them his decision, watched the mixed looks of relief and nervousness on their faces, and set them to another sweep of the camp.

The sweep was a success, in that they found nothing and the level of tension went down visibly because of it. It was enough to make Myron smile, if he hadn't already been fighting one because of lingering memories of the night before.

But he wasn't fighting the thoughts, needing them to help stave off the painful throbbing in his arm and the enervating washes of heat that kept streaking through his body. He knew that there was only so much longer that he could hold on like this without some kind of medical help, but he was pretty sure he could make it until the pickup. Once his men were back aboard the choppers, as safe as they could be this far out, then he could relax and let himself be sick. Not that he'd have a lot of choice about it, but it was good to hold onto a goal.

But if he wanted to meet that goal, he needed to rest a little himself. Heading back to the tent he'd stayed in last night, he allowed the warmth of his memories to carry him along.

But the warmth of the memories, the heat of his fever, chilled at the sight of the cat in the tent. Not that he realized it was a cat at first, but the bits of fur that were dotted around the mangled flesh finally registered with his reeling brain, finally helped to return the reason that shock had stolen from him.

He felt himself shaking, and tried to control it, knowing he couldn't fall apart now. He needed to check out the tent. He needed to get the men roused, to get them out of this place. He needed to... see Zeke. But he couldn't stop the shaking, his body pushed too far. Too many missions, too much shit coming down on this one, mixed with worry for his men, and pain and fever, and he was coming undone. His knees refused to hold, and he found himself on the floor, arms wrapped around his chest, holding on tight to keep himself from shaking apart.

He felt a pair of strong arms wrap around him, their heat burning against him. He knew it was Zeke, and he let it all go for a second, knowing his sergeant could handle things until he was himself again.

The warmth left him, and he almost cried, but he heard Zeke talking to someone, and realized that he was giving the order to pack up, warning the men to be careful. The rational part of his mind was grateful, even if the rest of him was whining in a manner most certainly not becoming of an officer.

But Zeke was back, and he was helping Myron up, pushing a cup into his hand. "Drink this, LT; it'll make you feel better."

Myron did drink it, even managing to keep it down when it burned a fiery trail down his throat. He started to question where Zeke had come up with Scotch out here, but he let it go, not really caring.

His thoughts kept wanting to disjoint, to focus on the oddest details. He looked again at the cat on the floor. Its limbs had been broken, stretched out like it had been crucified. Myron clinically noted that the knife that had cut it must have been very sharp to get such smooth lines in the flesh, to have skinned the patches of flesh so cleanly. If the blood and guts that spread away from the tiny body could be considered clean.

"I can never get used to that. To seeing what's inside. Skin on, cat. Skin off, meat. Skin on, human. Skin off,...."

Zeke's face was in front of him, looking worried. "LT?"

"When I was little, when I'd walk by the butcher's shops, I'd turn away. I could never bring myself to look. And now I can't bring myself not to."

Zeke nodded, giving him his 'go along with whatever the crazy officer is saying' look. He tried to push more Scotch on him, but Myron shook his head. "I'm OK."

Zeke laughed at that. "Well, you may be, LT, but I'm not. And we need to get out of here, so I really need to you to pay attention here."

Myron shook his head again, not to refute the statement, but to try to force his brain back into its usual place. All it did was make it spin, but he could feel his control coming back all the same. "You already ordered the men to get ready to leave?"

"Yeah. They're probably waiting for us."

And the officer in Myron grabbed onto that, held fast, and stood up. "Then let's get the hell out of here, Sergeant."

"Yes, Sir." And with a quick grab at Myron's pack and arms, they did.

:::::

Zeke almost missed the fuzzy Myron he'd had back in the tent. At least that one had been fairly easy going, if a bit out of it. But Lieutenant Goldman was firmly back in control, and he expected his orders to be followed. No matter how little Zeke thought of those orders.

Not that the idea, in and of itself was bad. They had to make sure they weren't being followed, so a small group was going to split off from the main one, swing around and come up behind them, catching anyone following between them. If there was anyone.

The incident with the cat had spooked them all, but the more time Zeke had to think about it, the more it didn't seem like an external threat. Why would the enemy come into the camp and kill a cat? Why not kill some of them, instead, or all of them, for that matter?

No, that didn't make sense. And Zeke wasn't buying the ghost stories that he'd heard whispers of from the men. This hadn't been done by any bogeyman. Of course, that only left one of them.

He looked over at Stiles, seeing eyes that were wide and staring, the white visible all the way around. Whoever had killed that cat was someone who was on the edge. Hell, it was someone who was clear over the edge, past the borderline and full into crazy. And it seemed to Zeke as if it was someone who wasn't any too happy with the LT. He remembered the barrels falling from yesterday, and wondered if he should have been paying better attention then.

Well, he was paying attention now, and he didn't want his LT out of his sight. And if the man was going to insist on being out of his sight, then he wanted as many of the men around him as possible. And if he wasn't going to be in the main group, then Zeke wanted men he could trust looking after the man, especially sick as he was.

So he'd try Plan A first. "LT." He was working hard to keep the exasperation and fear out of his voice, and he was almost succeeding. "I know we have to take precautions about being followed. I agree wholeheartedly with you there. But. The last thing you should be doing in your condition is being in the second group."

But Goldman was doing his rock imitation, refusing to be budged. "I need you with the larger group, Anderson. They're the ones most likely to come under attack... saying everything works out like it should, anyway, and I'm...." He paused, sighing. He pulled Zeke even farther away from the men, and lowered his voice. "I'm not sure I'm up to leading them in a fight right now. I can't risk that we don't come through this because I'm not fit enough. I can't risk that."

Zeke sighed, too, seeing the logic, but hating it. Well, time for plan B, then. "OK, LT. OK. We'll do it your way. Just...." But he couldn't finish, too much emotion pushing at him, and now wasn't the time for it.

Myron gave him a little crooked grin. "I'll do that, Zeke." But then the smile was gone, and Goldman turned back to the men. "Get them moving, Sergeant."

Well, there was no arguing with such a direct order. He waved the men on. "You heard the LT. Get going."

They set off, traveling as fast as they could. After about a klick, Goldman nodded at him. "We're going to split off now. You guys keep going."

Zeke nodded. Time for plan C. "I'd feel better if you took Taylor or Percell with you."

But Goldman just shook his head. "No. You might need them. Especially considering I'm leaving Stiles with you, and he's probably more of a liability at this point than a help. You might want to leave him helping out with the wounded. That might keep him out of trouble."

Zeke looked over at Stiles, at the anxiety that was still clearly visible on his face. "Yeah, that's a good idea, LT. But you need someone besides Baines, Wellman, and Jones. They're not exactly the cream of the crop."

Goldman rubbed a hand across his face, looking drained. Zeke reached out a hand to him, but Goldman shook it off. "No, I'm OK. I can do this."

But Zeke wasn't sure that he was telling the truth. "LT...."

"No." Adamant.

Zeke once again thought fondly of the hazed Myron of earlier, and let it go. He knew an immovable object when he saw one. "Ok, at least take Craddock instead of Wellman. He seems to be good at keeping you safe lately, and he's good in a fight."

"Fine. Just keep the others moving in a straight line for the LZ. We'll swing around and come up on you by the river. We'll be close enough that we'll hear you if you come under fire. Now get going."

Watching Goldman pull his men aside, and melt into the brush, Zeke couldn't help feeling that this was a mistake.

:::::

Myron spread his men out along the trail, wanting to give them the greatest chance possible to spot anyone following the others. Or them, for that matter. He put Craddock at point, wanting his best man in that position, with Baines and Jones next. He took the rear, knowing it wasn't the ideal situation, but figuring that even in the state he was in, with Craddock in the front, they could keep everything in line.

They walked along, just keeping each other in sight, eyes intent on the bush around them for the least sign of trouble.

They completed their loop out, swinging back around to come up behind Anderson and the others. But everything was quiet, and they didn't see a thing but some trees and each other.

:::::

Zeke was so busy keeping an eye out for trouble, and listening for any sign that Goldman and the others were in trouble, that he was startled when Stiles came up behind him.

Stiles smiled a little at his sergeant's jump, but the smile faded quickly, his anxious expression coming back once again. "Sarge, can I talk to you for a moment?"

"Yeah, but keep moving."

They walked along for a minute while Stiles worked himself up to say what he wanted. "I know I've been letting things get to me. I know I've been making things harder for everyone else. I just haven't seemed to be able to help it, you know?"

And Zeke did know. He'd been in that kind of bad place himself. "Yeah. But don't fret now. When we get back to the base, you're going to get some time to take a break. Little rest, and you'll be OK again."

Stiles looked doubtful, but he nodded.

When he didn't move off, Zeke looked over at him again. "Was there anything else?"

"No." But then he shook his head. "Yeah. Maybe."

Zeke laughed. "Well which one is it, soldier?"

But Stiles didn't laugh or smile in return. "Last night... last night, I was really angry. Me and some of the guys were sitting around after we came back from patrol, and I just couldn't seem to let the anger go."

Zeke's attention perked up. "Angry, huh? About what?"

"I was mad at the LT. I was mad at him for leading us into this mess. And I was mad at him for not getting us out of it again. And I was mad at him for calling me down in front of the others. And I guess I was scared, too, about whatever had happened at Borderline to make all of them people disappear."

"And what did you do about this anger?" Zeke was pretty sure he knew, but he wanted to give Stiles the chance to admit it.

"I was badmouthing the lieutenant, saying how high and mighty he acted. Well, I might have used some different words, you understand, but that's what I meant, anyway. Taylor told me to shut up, and he and the other guys left."

Stiles paused, his breath coming a little faster now. Zeke nodded, encouraging him to go on.

"The guys left, except for Craddock."

And that hadn't been what Zeke had been expecting to hear. "Ok, so Craddock didn't leave. What...?"

Stiles looked even more worried, if that was possible. "He didn't leave, and he started joining in. And I was real surprised, because you know how he's always so behind the LT, always talking him up when the men are griping. But he wasn't just agreeing with me, he was talking... kind of scary. Like he was really, really angry with him."

He looked at Zeke like he was looking for some clue about what to say now, but Zeke was fresh out of them.

"I'd just been talking, you know? Just blowing off steam, especially after the whole mess earlier with the tent. I didn't really expect anyone to agree with me. And then, of all people, Craddock was, and I just kind of sat there and didn't know what to do. So he kept going, talking about how the LT had been strutting all over the place. How he'd been...."

Stiles was looking at Zeke now like he expected to be hit, and Zeke was beginning to see where this was going. "Go ahead and say it."

"He said that LT had been, well, putting it out for anyone."

He stopped again, waiting to see how Zeke took this. Which, on the inside, wasn't well, but he didn't show it to Stiles. "Then what happened?"

Stiles just shook his head. "I don't know, 'cause I left. He was making me nervous."

Zeke nodded. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

Looking like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, Stiles hung his head, his face reddening. "I was still kind of angry. At first. But after this morning, with the cat thing, I started thinking about it. And I know you're always going on about keeping our minds on what we're doing, but it kept nagging at me. I was just kind of...."

Nervous, Zeke thought, and he was too. He'd been the one to insist that Craddock go with Goldman, and now he was regretting the decision.

But seeing Stiles' face, he smiled. No use giving the boy any more to worry about. "Get back in line now. I'll take care of things."

Stiles faded back, the tension in him easing a little, but not a lot as he kept a wary eye on the bush around him.

Zeke wished the tension in him would ease, but it was getting worse. He told himself that Myron had two other men with him, and that, even if Craddock had been the one who'd left the cat, he wasn't likely to do anything out here in the field. He told himself that, possible obsessions with his CO notwithstanding, Craddock was a good soldier and certainly wouldn't want to risk his own life, even if he didn't care about anyone else. He told himself that even if Craddock was willing to do something out here, that someone would hear it and be able to help. He told himself all of those things.

But, as he looked up into a sky darkening with rain, none of those things comforted him in the least.

:::::

Myron wiped the rain out of his eyes, only to have it immediately replaced by more. He pushed his helmet further down, trying to stem the tide, but it was still hard to see through the sheets of water.

He knew he needed to pull the men closer together. They were too vulnerable in this mess to spread out as far as they had. Quickening his pace, he moved to catch up with Jones. He saw his outline up ahead, leaning over something in the trail.

"Jones, catch up to the others. We need to bunch up more in this rain."

But the man just stood up and looked at him, not moving towards the others at all.

"Are you OK, Private?"

But Jones didn't answer, and by this time Myron could see why. It wasn't Jones standing there, it was Craddock. And the reason Jones hadn't answered was because he was on the ground, face up to the rain, open eyes unblinking as the drops splashed them, mouth gaping. Throat gaping.

Myron noted that the cut had been very clean; the knife used was sharp. Sharp enough to skin a cat cleanly.

Carefully watching Craddock, watching the blade that was in his hand, liquid dripping along its length, Myron forced his throat to unclench enough to call out. "Baines!"

But it was Craddock who answered. "Don't worry, LT. He won't interrupt us."

Though he'd been carefully watching, Myron still barely had time to react before the other man was on him, and he was still watching the blade as it sliced straight at him.

:::::

Taylor was staring at him, and Zeke was beginning to see why it irritated Goldman so much when Zeke did it to him. Zeke almost regretted talking to him about what Stiles had said.

"Come on, Sarge. We ain't seen any sign of anyone. And we ain't likely to in this garbage. And from what Stiles said, wasn't anyone in that camp but us. Might as well go and get the others, right? Not like there's any reason to be in two groups now."

All of which Zeke agreed with, but Goldman was trusting him to get the men to the LZ. It wasn't like their rendezvous point was all that far ahead, anyway. He should just keep the men moving. He should just do as he'd been ordered to.

He really should. He looked at Taylor, resolved. "Go tell Percell to keep the men moving forward, but tell him to take it easy. We still have plenty of time before we have to be at the LZ and we don't want anyone getting too tired."

Taylor nodded, but he was looking a little puzzled. "OK, Sarge. But-"

Zeke cut him off before he could finish. "You and I are just going to go take ourselves a little look around. Just to be on the safe side."

Taylor took off to find Percell, a smile on his face. Zeke was smiling, too, but it was his dangerous one. He'd save the real one for when his lieutenant was back in his sights again.

:::::

He'd managed to deflect the first strike, mainly, the knife leaving a stripe of fire behind on his palm, but the second one broke through, sliding deep into his shoulder. He wasn't sure, but he might have screamed, the pain worse than anything he'd ever felt.

Craddock pulled the knife back, the exit just amping the pain, and pushed at Myron, knocking him flat. Before he could get his breath back, Craddock was straddling him, the tip of the knife blade tracing across his face. The touch was light, not cutting, but when Myron tried to move, the knife dipped deeper, drawing blood.

Taking the hint, Myron held still. It galled him to do so, but he knew that he wasn't in any condition to take on the much larger man, even without the knife, so best to conserve his strength and hope he had a chance to use it later.

Craddock stared down at him, his body cutting off the rain that had slowed to a drizzle, giving Myron a clear view of the man's face. It was a surprisingly normal face, with only the slightest hint of anger to show that anything was wrong.

It was a surprisingly normal voice that spoke, too. "You always seemed so oblivious. I could deal with it then, you see. When I thought you didn't see. I could deal with it. And I was happy just to be near you."

Craddock pulled Myron's hands over his head, keeping them there with one of his. Myron gritted his teeth as the strain on his arms, on his wounds, caused the world to gray out in a wash of pain. He pushed it back, holding onto consciousness through sheer will. He couldn't afford to pass out now, or he might never wake again.

His sight cleared in time to see lips descending, forcing a kiss, while Craddock's other hand held the knife resting against Myron's throat. The threat of the knife held Myron still, though he couldn't help starting when Craddock's tongue worked its way into his mouth. He felt a trickle of blood run down his neck as the kiss deepened.

"Sweet, so sweet. I've wanted to do that since the moment I first saw you. But you never even looked my way." Craddock sat back up, smiling down at him as he thumbed away the blood on Myron's neck. He stared at his hand, holding it up so that the blood on the thumb and knife pooled into drops that fell down on Myron's face.

Craddock licked his thumb, running his tongue around it to get all the blood. He licked carefully along the knife blade, too, before leaning down to swipe at the drops on Myron's face. He pulled back up, a blissful expression on his face. "So very sweet."

Myron shook his head, a denial of the whole situation, but Craddock just ignored him. "I was happy just to be near you, just near you, because you never looked at anyone else, either. I could take it, see?"

Myron shook his head again, which made Craddock frown. The angry look was back, stronger. Shaking his own head, he struck out, slamming the hilt of the knife into the wound in Myron's shoulder.

The world spun and darkened, and Myron was afraid he was going to pass out, leaving him completely helpless, but he pushed the darkness back, willing it away. In a voice shaking with pain and fatigue, he asked, "If you were happy just to be near me, why are you doing this?"

Craddock was staring at the blood on the knife's hilt, twirling it around as if to see it from different angles. Looking down at him, Craddock traced the hilt along Myron's lips, painting them with his blood. Myron licked it away, not wanting to be kissed again, but Craddock was quick, his tongue stroking along Myron's before he could swallow.

His strength was fading with the blood that still oozed out of his shoulder, with the fever that burned in him, but he couldn't help trying to pull his hands free. He won them back as Craddock let go, moving his hand to stroke through Myron's hair. But even with his hands free, all he could do was push ineffectively against Craddock's bulk, and the memory of the knife kept him from biting down on the tongue that was almost choking him.

They were both breathing heavy when Craddock sat back up, though for different reasons. Myron refrained from the impulse to spit, not wanting to antagonize the man any further, but it was a hard won thing.

But Craddock must have seen something in his face, because he was yelling now. "You let Anderson do that to you! You let him!" He had his hands on Myron's shoulders, shaking them. Blinding pain took Myron's breath away, not allowing him to answer even if he'd wanted to.

But Craddock was beyond listening anyway, the madness that hadn't been visible before clearly present now. "I saved your life. I pushed you out of the way of that bullet and almost got hit myself. And it was worth it. Worth it because you were still alive, and because you smiled at me. After you realized that I'd saved you, you smiled at me."

Myron couldn't remember smiling at Craddock, but he had been happy to not be dead, so he probably had been smiling. He had the fleeting thought that he should avoid smiling in the future if it was going to lead to things like this, but he pushed it away. He could feel the hysteria that was tickling at the back of his mind, but he couldn't afford to let it touch him now.

"But then you went... you went and you let... him... touch you. You let him touch you!" Craddock obviously had no prohibition against hysteria, and he was back to shaking Myron, who tried to pry the hands off his shoulders even as the pain threatened to overwhelm him. But Craddock just grabbed his hands again, holding them down. "These hands. You touched him with them, touched him like I wanted you to touch me!"

And then, like the flip of switch, Craddock was calm again. He let go of Myron's hands, just leaning back and looking at him with an almost curious gaze. "I saw the two of you."

Myron shook his head, confused. Without really meaning to, he asked, "Saw us when?"

"Last night. I'd been coming to see you, just to make sure you were OK, and I saw him go in your tent. I told myself he was just checking on you, but I was still jealous. I thought you were oblivious, but I knew he wasn't. I'd seen him checking you out, too. And I couldn't stand the thought of him getting to be near you, getting to help you when I couldn't. So I kept going, figuring I'd interrupt you, make him have to leave. Only when I got to the tent, I could see you. He was holding you. Oh, it didn't last long, so I thought it was OK. But I kept watching, anyway, just in case. I had to hide when he went to see if anyone was around, but I still saw. Saw what you did."

Craddock was looking at his knife again, tilting the blade around as if looking for the perfect angle. Myron's heart started to beat faster, instinct telling him that things were coming to a close. He could only hope that his life wasn't going to be.

"I would have given you anything you wanted. All you had to do was ask." Craddock was looking at him now, his eyes glazed and hungry. "All you had to do was ask. But you asked him instead. And now it's all ruined. Tainted."

He raised the knife, holding it in front of Myron, who started to say something, what he didn't know, but he was cut off when Craddock placed the blade across his lips. "Tainted. But still beautiful."

He slid a hand down, tracing across Myron's chest, rubbing over his nipples in a grotesque parody of love. Myron knew this was the moment to fight. If the blade slipped, if it killed him, better that than to go through this only to die later.

He started bucking against the man over him, trying to twist enough to throw him off, trying to use what little strength he had left to gain some advantage, but he was pressed down, Craddock's full weight bearing down on him. Fingers pressed into the wound on his shoulder, making him cry out, making the world grow dark again. He decided to let it in, to let himself pass out so that he wouldn't be aware through what was about to happen.

As he faded, he heard a crack, and was vaguely aware that the body on him was crushing him, driving the breath from his lungs. And then the world went dark.

:::::

The rain had died completely, leaving only a dense, humid haze in the air. Zeke was wiping it from his face, contemplating all the many ways that Goldman was going to punish him for not obeying his orders when he first saw Baines. After that, the only thing he could think about was running fast enough.

He passed Baines' body, not even stopping to see if he was alive, leaving that to Taylor, who was still behind him. Even knowing it was wrong, he couldn't bring himself to care. He had to find his LT. He had to find Myron.

He almost stumbled across Jones' body because all of his attention was drawn to the two men further on. One on top of the other, their lips locked in a deep kiss. At the sound of his approach, the one on top looked up, hate filling the face as it saw him. Then he turned back to the man underneath him, knife raised, ready to strike. But Zeke struck first, and Craddock dropped fast.

Right on top of Myron. Zeke's breath wanted to stop, visions of Craddock's falling body driving the knife into Myron, but when he flipped the body over, the knife was lying harmlessly in the grass beside him.

Zeke could see the damage the knife had already done to Myron's shoulder, but his pulse was steady, if slow, and the wound wasn't bleeding too much. He'd gotten there in time.

He was tending to the wound as best he could, considering all he had was his shirt, the bandages all long gone, when Taylor caught up to him. He took one look at Craddock before dropping down beside Zeke. "He OK, Sarge?"

Zeke was fighting with his nerves to keep his hands from shaking, reaction setting in, but he managed a smile for Taylor. "He will be."

He was repeating those words over and over in his mind, a mantra to get him through, when Goldman woke up.

:::::

Myron was vaguely aware that someone was leaning over him, and the thought frightened him, though he didn't know why. As his memory caught up with his struggling mind, he tried to push Craddock away, knowing he wouldn't succeed, but unable to just lie there and be raped without fighting. But Craddock was holding tight, talking to him. Telling him it would be all right.

In Zeke's voice. That finally broke through. As he focused on the scene around him, he saw Zeke frowning at him, Taylor smiling, and Craddock lying dead a few feet away. He sighed, feeling his fear recede for the first time in what felt like forever. Life was good.

Well, except for the pain in his shoulder. And arm. And face. And just about everywhere else, really. And Zeke's frown.

In a voice that was nowhere near as steady as he'd hoped for, he asked, "Are you OK?"

Which made Zeke laugh. Myron didn't actually like being laughed at, but considering a smile came with it, he'd deal with it. And his sergeant, too. "Sergeant, I asked you a question."

"Yes, Sir! And I'm fine, LT. You're the one that needs a little work."

Which was true, but they didn't have time for it right now. He tried to get up, but it wasn't as easy as he remembered it being. "What time is it?"

Zeke put a hand on his chest, the light pressure enough to keep him in place. It was too close to recent events, though, and Myron pushed the hand away. Zeke looked intently at him, but moved his hand, only warning, "Stay down, LT. You've lost a lot of blood. And don't worry about the time. We still have plenty of it to get to the LZ, even if I have to carry you."

"No." Myron wasn't going to be toted around like luggage, not when he could walk. Not in front of the men.

But that just made Taylor laugh. "Don't know that you're going to have any choice about that, LT. But it's good to see you're OK." He turned to Zeke. "I hid Baines and Jones, and got the dog tags, Sarge. They should be able to get them when they come look at Borderline."

Zeke just nodded, but Myron said, "You forgot Craddock."

They both just looked at him like he was crazy, but he shook his head. "He was a soldier under my command and I won't just leave him behind."

Taylor said, "Yes, Sir," and moved to take care of Craddock.

Zeke was still looking at Myron oddly. "Why, LT? After what he did." He looked over to where Taylor was, then lowered his voice to a harsh whisper. "Don't think I don't know what he was going to do, either."

Myron shuddered and didn't even try to hide it. The memory was still too close, and he was still too tired to deal with it, but the exhaustion was actually helping right now, keeping events at a distance. "I know what he did, Zeke. I know. But he's dead, and I'm not, and, frankly, that's justice enough for me."

Zeke looked thoughtful for a minute, but then his usual grin was back in place. "More than good enough for me, LT. Though I'd have preferred it if you had a few less holes in you."

Myron sighed. "Me too, Sergeant."

Taylor was back, and he and Zeke left Myron alone for a moment, off doing something that Myron was too out of it to pay any attention to. When they came back, they were carrying a travois that they'd rigged from some branches and their ponchos. Zeke said, "Time to get going, LT. I for one am ready to go home."

Myron used his most commanding voice, the one that didn't have any whine in it, no matter what Zeke said, to issue his order. "I'm not being carried, Sergeant. Now help me up."

Later, as he was being carried along, Myron decided that he might have won if there had only been one of them, but against two yentas he'd had no hope.

:::::

Baines', Jones', and Craddock's bodies were all retrieved, along with the KIA they'd left at Borderline. For a week, Firebase Caroline swarmed with men, all bent on finding those who'd been stationed there, or at least finding out their fate.

At the end of the week, they left, taking everything of value with them, leaving behind only a cleared field with assorted detritus and an unsolved mystery.

Months later, the cleared field that had held Firebase Caroline had disappeared underneath a sea of grass. Only the mystery remained.

:::::

The hotel room was close, the heat of the day still heavy in the air, the ceiling fan doing little to ease it.

But Zeke couldn't feel it through the heat of the body next to him, through the heat coursing through his. He trailed a kiss down that long neck, arched to give him better access.

He was distracted by the feel of a hand wrapping around his heavily aroused cock. The heavy callus on the trigger finger was rubbing around the already slick head of his cock, and it almost sent Zeke over the edge right then. "Stop that if you don't want things to be over right now."

Myron laughed, but eased back on his touch. "Don't want it to be over yet. But you're so slow."

Zeke kissed at a bottom lip that was extended in what looked suspiciously like a pout. "With age comes patience."

A sharp crack sounded as Myron slapped Zeke's ass. "It's not patience, it's torture. And if you're not going to actually get around to doing anything, I might as well get some sleep."

But Zeke just ignored him, moving further down Myron's body until one nipple was under his lips. He bit it lightly, before sucking it in between his lips, tongue teasing the tip.

Myron shuddered beneath him, fingers in his hair holding Zeke's head in place. "That's more like it."

Zeke was never all that good at obeying, though, so he moved, swirling his tongue back over the chest, running it along the long, still red scar on Myron's shoulder.

"Don't." Myron twisted beneath him, pulling away.

Looking into those dark eyes, Zeke couldn't identify what he was seeing there. "Why not?"

Myron just scowled at him, but Zeke could feel the cock that had been hard against his stomach softening. He pushed himself back up, putting his face even with Myron's, kissing the frown. "What's the matter?"

Looking away, Myron said, "It's ugly."

"Beautiful."

That brought Myron's eyes back to his, the scowl dissolving into puzzlement. "How can you say that?"

Zeke smiled. "Because it's true. It's beautiful to me."

"Why?"

Not able to resist another kiss, Zeke pressed in, taking everything that Myron would give him. They were both panting a little when they broke apart. "It's beautiful because you lived."

Myron traced the scar on his shoulder while he looked at Zeke, his eyes searching for something. He relaxed then, and smiled, lying back, arms extended to the side, clearly offering.

And Zeke was only too happy to take him up on the offer. Here, in this place and this time, there were no barriers; no men, no duty, just them. And he planned to make the most of it.

He'd come so close to losing this, to losing Myron, who had walked the borderline between life and death. And as Zeke pushed into him, a circle completed, he kissed Myron, kissed the scar, kissed his talisman that they'd come out on the right side.

/story


End file.
